Peace in an Age of Metal and Men: Metal and Men

By Anthony W. Eichenlaub

Something ain't right in the town of Swallow Hill.

A boy's cold blooded murder yanks J.D. from his life of peace. Guilt at past failures drives him, but soon the problem in Swallow Hill proves to be too much to solve alone. Problem is, there's nobody he can trust: not his old war buddy, not the sheriff, and definitely not the good-looking gentleman from the city. Seems everyone around wants him to shoot someone else.

J.D. has to decide: is he going to go in guns blazing or is there a better way? Can there possibly be Peace in an Age of Metal and Men?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oak Leaf Books LLC
• Release date: Apr 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201706579

Book preview

Chapter 1

There’s a moment between the time something breaks and the time it goes bad. It’s a moment of tension, like standing on the edge of a canyon when the other side is a gray wash of fog. It’s like touching the sky. There are a lot of words for that time before things really go wrong.

I call it peace.

Four years had passed since I was sheriff of the town of Dead Oak. I’d given up on trying to set right every wrong in Texas, and the peace that followed formed something like happiness for me. Four years I walked the desert with the Hopi in the South Chihuahuan Desert. Life was dry and hot and tough, but we scraped our living out of that hard-packed land. The tech of the world, with its neural enhancements, human cybernetics, and genetic modifications, passed them right by. They didn’t need it.

My left arm was Texas Army–issued black metal—a long, three-fingered clamp designed to crush heads and heft heavy weapons. Most others could get away from tech, but not me. It was too much a part of me.

My skidder’s antigrav hummed smoothly fifty meters above the flatlands. Topaz flames that had once decorated the sides of the skidder were now faded, scraped away by dust and wind. The skidder wasn’t in as good a shape as it was back when I bought it off impound, but neither was I. Skidders were flying motorcycles named for their propensity to fail at high speeds, leaving their rider skidding across the ground in a spectacular demise. This one was more and more a risk each day, which is why I was scouring the desert looking for an upgrade.

The horses thundered across the plain in some hurry to get from nowhere to nowhere. Their faint shapes were barely visible in the dust cloud. Reds and browns dominated the herd. One lone black ran in front of the rest. The black turned hard and the whole team followed.

I turned too.

Twisting the accelerator, I braced myself for a burst of speed. It didn’t come. I twisted again.

Nothing.

The horses galloped, headed straight for a canyon. Perfect. I’d corner them and catch the black, lead it back to the village. Maybe the rest would even follow.

I twisted again. Kicked at the rockets with the heel of my boot.

With a crack of thunder, the skidder burst forward. My cowboy hat flew off my head. Metal fingers gripped tight while every other part of me flailed helplessly in the wind. Muscles strained against the pressure.

Hooves thundered. Dust choked my lungs. The horses below me split from the group, peeling off left or right. The fastest headed straight for the canyon. Slowing and dropping, I fell in behind them.

A lasso hung from my hip. Carefully, keeping my metal left hand clamped hard to the handlebars, I loosened the lasso and readied it. It looped easily onto a hook on my skidder and I gave myself a bit of slack.

With another crack of blue flame, my skidder burst forward. I cursed, dropping the lasso as my body flew from the seat. Again, my metal hand held tight where my muscles failed. The rope dropped loose, loop dragging useless across the ground.

More horses broke from the team. Half of them were gone. Then more. As I pulled myself back up to position, only the black remained in front of me. The rocky soil blurred by, only a couple meters below my boots. I gritted my teeth and hunkered down. The black was almost close enough to touch.

The original plan was to herd them into the canyon, trap them in a dead end, but as the canyon grew closer the black veered right. The idea of jumping off the skidder and mounting the horse crossed my mind, but since I wasn’t stupid or suicidal I put the idea on a back burner. The lasso was my best bet.

The lasso still dragged across the ground.

It caught on a rock the size of a longhorn. Slack snapped out of it in a second. The skidder twisted hard and stopped. I didn’t.

I hit dirt and skidded hard along a flat stretch of ground, catching cactus and scrub grass to slow down. At that speed, it would have been nothing to bash a head open or snap a neck. Nothing ever seemed to go so easy for me. Rocky earth scraped through my duster, my shirt, and then the skin of my back.

Then there was pain. Hours seemed to pass. I’d failed. What was the point in moving? Defeat wasn’t going anywhere. Me and failure were just fine there on the ground. Alone.

My hat flew through the air and landed on my chest.

Howdy, someone said. A man.

The sun was too damn hot and my body hurt too damn much for me to remember that there was such a thing as polite. I didn’t respond.

Zane Edwards, the man said. He offered his hand, though it was hard to tell if it was intended as a lift-up or just a shake. I didn’t take it.

J.D., I said, still prone. The sun was making a towering silhouette of him, so I lifted the hat from my chest and used it to shield my eyes. You just passing through?

Zane removed his black hat and held it to his chest. No, sir. As a matter of fact, I was hoping to meet you out here. He was wearing a prim suit of black and gray with a tight shoestring necktie. His beard was closely cropped, a few days of shadow trimmed and styled with immaculate precision. The glint in his eye was part amusement and part tech.

Don’t see many city boys out these parts. I sat up, wincing. My whole back was rubbed raw and the hot wind set the whole thing afire.

He nodded. I wondered how he had found me. With little tech in my possession, there weren’t a lot of good ways to track me. He might have learned my approximate location from my tribe, but that implies earning their trust. That’s not something a city boy could easily earn. He might have tracked my skidder, but to my knowledge the device had been stripped of any location-sensitive equipment years ago. I might’ve asked how he found me, but asking implies not knowing, so I stayed silent.

I wrenched myself up off the ground. Zane stood a bit shorter than myself, and not much younger if the gray in his beard were any measure. He had the kind of smile that made a person think there was an inside joke that nobody else was getting. His eyes twinkled with amusement as they tracked up and down my disheveled form. For an instant, I felt conscious of my dust-covered coat and ruined clothes, but really it still wasn’t far off from the best I could show him. Judging by the draft on my backside, he might be seeing more than he bargained for.

After a minute, I offered my hand and he shook it. It was a firm grip, but not overly so.

You been looking long? I said.

No, sir. Zane smiled and nodded to my skidder, which still hovered a couple meters up. Didn’t have any trouble spotting you once I knew how to look.

I grunted and started limping over to the skidder. Zane followed.

My employer has need of someone with your talents, Mr. Crow.

There it is, then.

Yes, sir. There it is. Zane straightened his tie. There are few out here who can help us, and Chester Goodwin himself gave us your name.

Goodwin? That son of a bitch? I had met the man once, but didn’t think I had made much of a good impression. Or, rather, the impression had been fist-shaped and not likely to win any employment opportunities.

He didn’t have so many good words for you either. Zane looked like he was picking his words carefully. But he seemed to think you were the kind of man who could be persuaded to help.

You don’t know how stubborn I am.

You don’t know how persuasive I can be. That smile again. Damn if he wasn’t a good-looking fella.

My skidder hung crooked in the air like a boat taking on water. The rope was pulled taut by the continued pressure from the antigrav, but the rockets were powered off completely. The sad wreck of a skidder just limped there, seeming to bemoan the fact that it may never be fast again. Straining against the stiffness in my back, I reached up and cut power. The whole thing dropped like a granite balloon.

Zane caught it.

He gently lowered the machine to the red earth, hardly showing any effort.

I nodded my appreciation and put my hat back on. Zane was a modder, then. Tech was even more prevalent in the city, so it was no surprise that he’d be more machine than flesh. It was impressive that I couldn’t see it. Except for a slight sheen on his skin, there wasn’t any indication of it.

I rely on technology, Zane said.

Sure.

Most people do. That’s why I’m here.

I nodded. I’ll leave them to it.

Not you, though. You can see what’s really there.

My rope was still looped around a rock, so I untied it and started coiling it up. Zane watched in silence. Once the rope was ready, I hooked it to my belt and climbed aboard the skidder. Antigrav hummed as it powered back up and soon I was nearly a meter up.

People need your help, J.D. Zane walked a short distance and a vehicle appeared in front of him, seemingly from nowhere. It was a beauty of a ride, hot-rod red with a fender that flared up in the front. Its open top revealed plush leather seats and chrome trim. Innocent people. They’re being used. Maybe killed. We need a man who can handle a gun and doesn’t have modded sight or hearing.

Plenty of people like that. As soon as I said it, I doubted if it was true. Modified eyes and ears were very common. Most folks who had taken up a career that involved weapons already had some mods. If not, they’d get them fast or they’d be dead. Competition among armed groups is a fierce motivator for improvement.

I urged my ride forward at full speed. The rocky Texas landscape rolled behind me.

Slowly.

Without functioning rockets, the skidder couldn’t do more than five or ten kilometers an hour. It was going to be a long ride back to the tribe. I’d planned for a long trip, but the hope had been to return with horses, not a broken ride and a bruised ass. Still, it was better than walking. I laced my fingers behind my head, leaned back, and kicked my feet up to rest on the handlebars.

You know you can’t outrun me. Pulling up beside me, Zane flashed his crooked smile in my direction.

My world’s a lot smaller these days, I said. When someone in the tribe needs a ditch cleared, I clear it. When they need a longhorn tracked, I track it. I do plenty good for my people.

I’m sure you do.

The rest of the world’s on its own. Your world and me are square. Maybe it goes to the crapper. Maybe it pulls through. My business is to make sure my own people survive. We do that by not messing with your people. That’s just how it needs to be.

The time passed in silence for a while. Kilometers rolled by.

Finally, Zane spoke. I understand.

That made me blink. Did he really understand? Could he possibly know what it was like to struggle for twenty years, trying to bring justice to a land that just wasn’t going to have it? Could he understand what it meant to see suffering and be powerless to stop it? He couldn’t. It must have been a new ploy to convince me to do whatever it is he wanted.

Zane tossed something my way and I caught it. It was a metal circle, like a coin. One side had a thin, shiny tendril snaking out of it.

If you change your mind, Zane said, just stick that in your ear.

Not likely I’ll do that.

No, it’s not.

Zane pulled forward and fell in line in front of my skidder. He climbed out onto the trunk in the back and looped a towline around the front of my bike. Without saying another word, he returned to his vehicle and slowly accelerated.

Tucker Hale, I shouted over the rush of wind.

Pardon?

Tucker Hale. You’re looking for a man who ain’t modded and can handle a gun. Look for a guy named Tucker Hale. He’s an old army buddy. He’ll take your money. Might not thank you for it.

Zane smiled and tipped his hat. Much appreciated, Mr. Crow.

Chapter 2

The little town called Overpass was a cluster of several dozen stone buildings. These limestone houses were rammed up into the shadow of the great structure that had once been a crumbled section of road and bridge. The ruins of the overpass cast sharp shadows over the little town that bore its name. In the center of town, tall grass surrounded the Kiva, a mostly underground rectangular structure used for ceremonies and meetings. The vegetation around this little pit of a town was dry and angry; bones of trees clawed at the sky, as if trying to slow it down. Smaller shrubs still grasped at green in a painful attempt to stay alive in this last refuge against the punishing sun. East of town, small fields held the community’s agriculture, which consisted mainly of millet, potatoes, and piñon. This was not so much a safe place as a secluded corner in a vast, untamed wild.

Zane had dropped me a few kilometers from town. He’d laughed at the idea that I didn’t want to be seen with him, but he respected my need for privacy.

By the time I drifted back into town, night had fallen and the waxing moon had risen with an army of stars at its back. Cool night air tickled the raw skin on my back, the flesh already tightening in places where it was damaged. The nanomachines in my bloodstream were doing their best to fix the damage, but the nannies did nothing to help the pain. The night was quiet and had an empty feel, like there was nobody from one horizon to the next.

But I wasn’t alone.

Hey, said a voice not far off. What’re you doing here?

Squinting at the dark, I was able to make out the woman’s shape as her eyes flashed with lavender light. I powered down my skidder and hopped off. The machine would do just as fine here as anywhere. Nobody would take it, and if they did they sure weren’t going very far very fast.

Mina, I said, recognizing her voice. You walking rounds?

Just started. Mina Honanie came closer and I could see her in the moonlight. Dark hair fell in piles on her shoulders, unkempt and wild as the woman’s soul. Deeply tanned skin showed the creases of smiles at the corners of her eyes. Mina always had laughter in her eyes, but when she thought you weren’t looking there was sadness too. To a man interested in women, she’d be quite the catch, but that’s not my deal. She was probably the closest thing I had to a friend. Wanna join? she asked.

We made our way to the edge of town, following a path that someone from our tribe walked every day and every night. The desert was a dangerous place. There were animals that’d rip you apart and people who were worse. We Hopi followed the old ways as best we could and kept things low-tech, but we weren’t stupid. We were well armed and well prepared. Mina’s rifle was slung across her shoulders with a loose strap.

No horses? Mina asked.

Next time.

She nodded. Never met a horse stubborner than you, J.D.

You ever met a horse?

Once. When I was little. She smiled. And there’s Vincent.

The donkey? That’s not the same thing.

We worked our way up a steep slope, picking our way over the broken stone of an old wall. Moonlight cast sharp shadows under the clear sky. A million stars stretched across the night sky in a great, broad brush-stroke.

People still kept horses back when I was little, Mina said.

Some still do.

There wasn’t a use for them back then. Not really. Still, my papa knew a woman who had a few. She said she loved them like her own kids. She said they were the sweetest things she’d ever known. Mina grinned. One of them bit me.

Maybe it thought you were an apple.

Mina barked a quick laugh and quickly tried to stifle it. Her face flushed and her laugh lines dug deep. I tried to scowl to quiet her down. It wouldn’t do to draw attention ourselves while we were walking rounds. Soon her laugh was tugging at the corners of my own mouth. Next thing I knew, we were both howling with laughter. It felt good, like a huge weight coming off of my chest.

We moved on along the path, silent for a while. The air grew cooler, gently tickling me where my clothes were ripped.

The wind changed direction and brought a heavy musk, warm and thick.

Mina must have sensed my tension because she stopped.

Long moments stretched on. We were up on a rise, overlooking Overpass. From this angle, the town was nearly invisible. Scrub bushes and dead grass made for plenty of cover for critters up there. A layer of dirt and dust had covered and reclaimed the asphalt of the ancient highway. My ears strained against the constant whisper of the wind.

Nothing moved for several minutes. I motioned Mina to follow and saw that she’d already pulled out her rifle. Good. There wasn’t likely going to be any trouble, but it was better to be ready for it.

Crouching low, I sniffed the air. The musk hung on the wind like a piss-soaked blanket, moving heavily in from the north. Slowly, I crept closer to one of the thicker patches of grass. Something had rested there; something big had trampled the area. Starting there, I crept in a circle, looking for more signs of disturbance. Some grasses were crushed. In another place, there was a branch chewed down to bare wood. I took it and stuck it in my duster pocket. The teeth marks might be interesting, but in the moonlight there was no way to properly look at it.

One fat, well-formed print sat perfectly formed in a section of soft soil several meters away from the trampled grass. It had four small pads and marks of long, wicked claws.

Coyote, I said.

Mina moved up behind me and peered at the print.

Big coyote. Probably more than one. I bit my lip. They bedded down over there for a bit. At some point one of them pissed right here and another one stepped in it. That’s how we got that print.

It’s not a wolf?

I shook my head. Not quite right for wolf. Size is right, but the claws are wrong. It’s coyote, but probably bio-engineered. Maybe escaped or something.

We walk this path all the time, though. We’d have noticed giant coyotes this close.

Coyotes coming this close meant there was something odd about them. A coyote was likely to see just about anything as food, but they were smart enough to fear humans. Maybe whoever was walking the path hadn’t noticed them, but those coyotes had been there a while. The grasses might have concealed them, or maybe the creatures had moved away when they heard people coming. It was like a coyote to be cowardly.

Folks ought to walk in twos for a while, I said. Might be safer.

Mina nodded. You think they’ll come back?

All that noise we made might have scared them off. If they like it here, they’ll come back.

You can tell Broadfeather what you saw when you go see him tomorrow.

Pardon? I said.

Elder Broadfeather said that you should speak with him when you get back. It’s very important.

Thanks for the message.

She slung her rifle back over her shoulder. Her expression got deadly serious. Mina put her hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eyes.

J.D., she said. There’s just one thing I’m gonna ask you about today and I want a straight answer.

Sure.

Can you please tell me the reason that your ass crack is showing out the back of your ripped-up pants?

Chapter 3

My back creaked in protest at the mere thought of movement. Bruises lined my legs and arms, tying the muscles into rock-hard knots. My very bones ached, like maybe coyotes had chewed them on. It was luck that kept those bones from getting broken in my fall off the skidder, but I sure as hell didn’t feel lucky.

One advantage of a metal arm is that it doesn’t have the same vulnerabilities as the rest of my body. It could drop from the sky into an active volcano and not show so much as a scratch while the rest of me lit up like a bonfire. I had some tactile feeling in the hand, but it never hurt, no matter how hard it got hit.

That morning, the arm throbbed with dull pain. It had a low battery, which was not surprising, given that I hadn’t charged it in a month. The low-battery warning presented as a dull, irritating ache in my elbow.

It was still dark. Why was I awake so early? Sure, pain made it hard to get a decent night’s sleep, but why was I sitting up looking around at my dark room?

A gentle rap at the door gave me the answer. A visitor. How long had they been there? Who was it? My heart raced. Where was my gun?

The gentle tap came again, slightly more insistent.

Light. I needed light.

A sweep of my human arm knocked my glow cube from its position on the little table by my worn-down cot. I swore out loud.

There was another gentle tap at the door. In my experience, death didn’t knock. I forced myself to calm down. Deep breaths.

Just a minute, I said, though it might have come out as a rhythmic cadence of grunts. I rolled off the cot and landed on my knees on the earthen floor. The cube had to be close. Crawling, I carefully swept the area for the device, finding it after only a few seconds.

My thumb found the indentation on the top of the device, and a blue glow filled the room. A red light indicated some kind of message, though I couldn’t figure who it might be from. There wasn’t time for it. I stood up and opened the thatch door. Only once it was open did I remember that I was wearing only an old pair of long underwear, one of the few remaining intact items of clothing in my possession.

Isi Broadfeather was the tribe’s chief by the simple authority given a brilliant, charismatic man of advanced age. Like many folks of his years, he was not of a mind to sleep much more than a few hours a night. Maybe his body didn’t require it, or perhaps he felt the looming end of his long life pressuring him to make the most of those final days. Even my sleep-addled brain should have figured it was him at the door.

Morning, I said. C’mon in.

Elder Broadfeather’s eyes twinkled with amusement when he saw me. His gnarled wooden cane tapped the earthen floor as he waddled past me. There was only one chair in the place, and he settled comfortably into it and folded both hands on the end of his cane. The old man wore tanned leather and a modest assortment of feathers. His gray hair was pulled back and tied neatly away.

I sat on the cot across from him, and there we stayed for several minutes. My neck and arms benefited from a good stretch, and soon felt like they could move as reliably as a person could expect.

Broadfeather spoke first. Good to see you walk back to town last night.

I nodded, wondering if he saw me come into town or if Mina had told him.

Didn’t want to come back on horse?

Not badly enough.

Maybe they would rather be free.

Wouldn’t we all?

Broadfeather smiled at that. He had always supported my attempt at taming the horses, but I couldn’t help but feel like he’d been betting against my success. Yet, every time I came back he’d lay out a new ploy to try to catch them.

It almost worked, I said. Had them running right for the canyon, but the skidder failed and they got away. That black’s a smart one, I think. She had an eye out for me.

I once heard a story of a man who wanted horses, but all he had were apples. The man would walk out into the field with apples each day, leaving them for the wild horses that roamed the area. Soon the horses started visiting that location each day, and each day the man would get closer to them. One day he fed an apple directly to a beautiful mare.

He made friends with it?

No, of course not. He tricked her and broke her until she would do his bidding.

Seems a broken horse wouldn’t be as good.

Broadfeather shook his head. Nonsense. A horse must be broken to be ridden. That is how it’s done. The horse is no good if it’s too free. It won’t obey orders or let its rider ride. If it can’t be broken, then the horse is no good to its owner.

I grunted.

Long minutes passed in silence. The sky eased from the gray of predawn to a stunning mix of reds and yellows. There was movement outside and somewhere a rooster crowed. The tribe was waking up and my head was starting to clear. The ache of fatigue and injury faded into the background of a life lived hard.

The tribe needs you, son, said Broadfeather quietly.

I raised an eyebrow.

We do our best to follow the Hopi Way, from before the land was ruined. The twinkle was gone from his